


Sing to Me Instead

by TurnIt0ff



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, THE BOOK THING, connor is trying his damn best, kevin is so sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnIt0ff/pseuds/TurnIt0ff
Summary: "The terrible thing about 'doing the best you can' was that sometimes, on the outside, it looked a whole lot like doing nothing at all. He never contributed much to the conversation, but at least he was there, nodding and smiling and agreeing, even when his mind slipped away from him and into the fog that had settled in around him weeks ago and never quite dissipated. Kevin supposed that was his life now. Learning to navigate through the fog."My take on Kevin Price's struggle toward recovery.
Relationships: Arnold Cunningham/Nabulungi Hatimbi, Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price, Elder Church/Elder Thomas (Book of Mormon Musical)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 78





	1. Through the Fog

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings, as this is not going to be the happiest of stories at times. Title is based off the album by Ben Platt by the same name, because listening to that album reminded me a lot of Kevin & Connor falling in love in Uganda and all the bumps along the way. I'm famously bad at updating regularly on multi-chapter projects, but I'm hoping my brain can work with this one. Really hope you enjoy!

His parting words with Gotswana had been a plea for discretion. No one could find out about this. The doctor had laughed him off at first, but Kevin stood frozen at the foot of the exam table, pants loosely re-fastened, jaw clenched tighter than his fists and his eyes stinging with tears. He wouldn't leave without his word. He couldn't. After forcing him to endure the three hours of mockery and humiliation in the wake of the worst experience of his life, the doctor owed him at least that much. The smirk left the older man's face for the first time during the excruciating procedure, and he extended his arm to Kevin, holding out a plastic bag containing the book. Kevin's features twisted with disgust as he eyed it - the item he once carried with him wherever he went, which acted as a personal safe haven his whole life. He gagged at the thought of touching it, but the doctor's arm was still outstretched, so Kevin swallowed back his resistance and took it, dropping it to his side as if it weighed a million pounds.

"Your secret is safe with me, white boy."

Kevin let out a long, uneven breath through his nose, but his relief was impeded by the naked pity he saw in the doctor's face. He dropped his eyes to the ground, nausea stirring in the pit of his stomach. He could only murmur a pitiful 'thank you' before he stumbled for the door.

Every step was a grueling reminder. It was more than the pain, though there was more than plenty of that. It was the fear that something has been irreparably damaged inside him. On some level, he knew it was true in more ways than one. As he limped along the unlit, dirt road, he was blanketed by an eerie silence, only punctured by his pronounced hisses of pain. He kept one arm crossed over his torso, as if physically holding his rib cage together. It had become increasingly harder to draw a full breath after one of the General's guards rammed the butt of his gun into Kevin's side to subdue him when he tried to fight back. It was effective; he stopped fighting after that. He winced at the memory, which was only that much more vivid in accompaniment with the constant pain and labored breathing. But the worst of the pain radiated from somewhere much lower. Somewhere he refused to think about, even though ignoring it was not really an option.

There was nothing he could do to stop the images in his head, the phantom touches on his body. If he hadn't been so thoroughly dehydrated, another flood of tears might have broken free, and he was reminded once again of how the General and his men mocked him for crying while they hurt him. How their laughter and taunting played through his head while he squeezed the rough edge of the cheap hospital mattress hours later, pleading with himself not to cry in front of the doctor, no matter how much it hurt. But his body betrayed him both then and with the General, just as it betrayed him now.

He had been trudging through the darkness for what felt like an eternity when the sound of rushing water pricked at his senses. He looked to his right and found a nearby stream shrouded by tall, thin blades of grass. He stopped for a moment, considering something. He cast a glance down at the putrid bag in his hand, then back to the water. Decisively, he sucked in a deep breath, holding his ribcage tighter, and dragged himself to the water's edge. He picked up a few loose stones at his feet and stuffed them into the plastic bag along with the book. With all the strength he could muster in the empty vessel that was his body, he pulled back the parcel and cast it into the darkness with a grunt. The sound came out broken and mangled, nearly unrecognizable as his own voice, and despite his best efforts, it only made it a few feet out. But it was just enough. He watched the splash with a numb echo of satisfaction and kept his eyes glued to the object as the water slowly pulled it under, bubbling at the surface before disappearing it altogether. He stood in a trance as the water settled, eyes locked on where the book had been just moments before, and felt a pang of longing. Envy. There was something so alluring about the sight before him; so much that he suddenly found himself wishing it was him being enveloped by the black waters instead. Sinking and sinking and sinking until he was gone.

He continued on the last leg of his journey back to the mission hut, but he didn't remember making the decision to move from the water. His body was moving on autopilot now, his mind only processing small pockets of awareness in its struggle to keep up. When he finally spotted the run-down shack through the darkness, a rush of clarity swept into him, making him nauseated as he swiped at his eyes. The others couldn't see him like this. They _couldn't._

_Heavenly Father, please just let them all be asleep--_

He stopped short at the thought, forcing his shaky legs to stand steady under him. There was no use begging for this small mercy. If there was one thing Kevin learned tonight, it was that no one was listening to his prayers. 

* * *

Connor stifled a yawn and glanced down at his watch.

11:52 pm.

It was almost midnight and Connor was awake, camped out on the stiff-and-tattered common room couch instead of the stiff-and-tattered cot in his shared bedroom. Despite the heavy eyelids, he couldn't seem to stop his knee from bouncing incessantly, obnoxiously. He was nervous by nature, as his mom never failed to point out, and it was only worse when prompted by some external stimuli. In this case, the disappearance of one of his new underlings. He had been under Connor's watch for less than a week and already he had managed to lose him - _and just in time for a last minute visit from the mission president,_ his brain reminded him. He yawned again and rubbed his palms against the thigh of his slacks to expel some of the nervous energy. The anxious ball in his stomach was similar to the one he felt when he lost his mother in the grocery store as a child, except one hundred times worse, because the dairy aisle wasn't as widely known for lions and scorpions and murderous generals.

He couldn't find it in his heart to be angry with Elder Price. Maybe he should- the other elders certainly didn't have a problem doing so. But Connor remembered his own first week in Uganda like it was yesterday. He tried to keep it in perspective that way; to remember how he felt when he landed in this new, scary place… even if he hadn't reacted quite as _theatrically_ as Elder Price seemed to be doing. But he had a soft spot for the boy, a soft spot that he was quite sure had _absolutely_ nothing to do with his objectively handsome face or his dazzling smile, or --

He was having the thoughts again.

If he was being honest with himself -- as he rarely was -- it might be easier to count all the times he _wasn't_ having them. Something about moving away from Utah and into this new and unfamiliar (and often horrifying) land had triggered a change in him. Like cracking open the lid on a box he thought he'd managed to crush long ago. Even though he still wore the uniform and badge of a missionary, still carried his book wherever he went and enthusiastically oversaw the group of missionaries, something was different now. He was no longer under the watchful eye of his parents and church. No longer under the immediate threat of going back to "therapy" if he started acting a little too… different. He tensed at the thought.  
All his usual methods of turning it off didn't always work anymore.

It had gotten worse in the past few days. If he were one for jumping to conclusions, he might say there is some correlation between this sudden awakening and a certain Elder Price's arrival at the missionary hut. The mission president had really talked him up, but even that grand introduction couldn't have prepared Elder McKinley for the experience of meeting him in person. It had been all he could do to keep his cool in front of the Elders as Price took his hand into his strong grip, and he felt himself melt into the touch. He felt a familiar stirring deep inside him and immediately and knew he was in trouble.

_Turn. It. Off._

He may have been well-practiced in faking it for his mission brothers, his parents, his church and everyone else, but convincing himself was another story. "Turning it off" stopped working a long time ago, and when it failed -- when _he_ failed -- the nightmares came at him even harder.

On the worst nights, he would come out to the couch like this and just sit in the darkness. Alone. The solitude was a small price to pay in exchange for protecting his mission companion from the ripples of his sin, and it was a lighter punishment than he deserved. Elder Thomas had always been kind to him when he woke him in his post-hell-dream-panic. He was diligent in assuring him that he didn't mind, that they all had them. But Connor was sure no one had dreams quite like his, and the last thing he wanted was for someone else to have to shoulder his problems. He was the leader of the camp, after all, and it was no one's fault but his own anyway. So he retreated, making the dark as his only companion, exhausted but fighting off sleep with everything he had.

Just as his eyes began to slip shut, the flames from the oncoming nightmare lapping at his vision, a soft _click_ from across the room jolted him awake. Relieved to have evaded another hell dream, he sat up straight and put a hand over his chest, squinting into darkness. In the small sliver of moonlight shining through the kitchen window, he made out the familiar face of Elder Price at the front door. Ignoring the rush of relief and especially the hint of butterflies, Connor pushed himself to his feet.

"Elder Price," Connor put on his best impression of a stern father.

The boy jolted at the sound, his head whipping in Connor's direction. He hadn't seemed to notice his presence until that very moment, and a small yelp escaped as his back hit the door. Connor's eyes widened momentarily at his reaction, then narrowed in on the young man's figure.

It was hard to make out in the dim lighting, but Connor could see something was very wrong. His tie was loosened considerably, draped lazily around his neck, and he was filthy. From his position against the door, the boy remained perfectly still, save for the heightened rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes moved frantically over Connor's face as if he was trying hard to recognize him. After a few moments, Connor took a small step toward him, his voice softer this time.

"Elder Price?"

His movement seemed to trigger something, and Elder Price broke from his trance, clearing his throat as he pushed off the door to stand up straight again.

"Elder McKinley," he responded, his voice thick and scratchy. Deeper, somehow, without the distinct glint of optimism it always carried. It didn't sound like him at all.

"Where have you been?" Connor tried to keep up the chastising tone, but genuine concern was bleeding in, "It's way past curfew."

Elder Price stared back at him, eyes blank. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it when nothing came out. In the splash of moonlight that reached his face, Connor could have sworn he saw tears gathering in his eyes. Kevin lowered his head, ducking his face from view.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

With that, he moved away from the door and toward the hallway, and Connor didn't miss the limp in his gate. He stepped into Kevin's path before he could escape. Kevin winced at his sudden proximity and Connor took a guilty step back, eyeing him with more suspicion.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," he said without meeting his eyes, "I just need to go to bed."

Now that he was closer, Connor could see that he had definitely been crying. His usually pristine hair had fallen from its shape and into his face, clinging to his skin in sweaty clumps. And he was bleeding. At this, Connor gasped out loud. It was just a small trail cascading from a cut above his eyebrow, and a dried split in his lip to match, but it was definitely blood. The closer he inspected the Elder, the more he took in: his untucked shirt, the bruising on his arm, the absence of light in his big, brown eyes. A swell of anxiety grew in the pit of his stomach.

"Elder Price. What happened to you?"

Kevin squeezed his eyes tight, taking a half step back.

"Please," he whispered, his voice cracking, "Just let it go."

"I am your district leader. You show up two hours past curfew, looking like you've been through a wood chipper, and you expect me to _let it go?"_  
His eyes were still closed.

"I told you it wouldn't happen again."  
Connor's heart lurched at the desperation in his voice.

"I…" Connor shook his head, taking a step back himself now, "I'm not _mad,_ Elder Price, I--"

"Then _please,_ " Kevin finally opened his eyes, pleading and terrified, "Please, just let me go to bed."

Connor's eyes flitted over him, desperate to read something in his expression that might tell him what is going on. Might let him help. He found only the same empty eyes that had avoided his since he walked through the door.

"Okay," he caved against his better judgement, every instinct in his body telling him to push further.

At the dismissal, Kevin offered him a single, grateful nod before taking his first shaky step down the hall. Connor watched after him, his heart aching with each hobbled step. He couldn't just let him go like this.

"Elder Price," he called out quietly after him, "If you decide you want to talk, or if you need anything, anything at all, please--"

Kevin stopped mid stride before he could finish, bracing himself with an arm against the wall as he turned over his shoulder.

"Just turn it off, right?"

Connor's lips parted in surprise, but before he could argue, Kevin limped forward again, stepping through the door to his shared bedroom. Upon hearing the sharp click of the lock, Connor sank slowly down onto the couch, his eyes glued to where the young missionary had retreated and a gnawing guilt rolling in his stomach. 

* * *

They had decided to stay in Uganda, and Kevin himself was a huge reason why.

That was about as much information as he could extract from the past several days. Everything else had gone by in a blur. When he tried really hard to reflect on all that had happened, it came in small, dream-like flashes. Hot coffee on his tongue. Arnold yelling. Nabalungi crying. The mission president. More yelling. More crying.

_The General._

He closed his eyes as he did every time he felt the memories creeping in, every muscle in his body clenching in frustration. _Stop,_ he wanted to scream. Wanted to claw at his skin, peel it back layer by layer until he was free of its prison.

Moving through the days had become a chore he could no longer tolerate. The facade he thought he had perfected was crumbling faster than he could keep up with, the cracks in his foundation proving deeper and more irreparable every day. In less than a week's time, everything he knew, every core value and principle he clung to, had been shattered. When he thought back on it, the ropes that held Kevin Price together had begun to fray the moment he stepped foot in Uganda. Kevin always knew on some level that he led a privileged life back in Utah. His family was healthy, happy on at least a surface level, and financially comfortable enough that Kevin had never had to think much about money before. But these things - the roof over his head, the food on his table, the clothes on his back - were taken for granted. They were a given, and never something that he imagined having to go without, because why would he? All his friends lived the same way, if not better off, and they knew no other alternative.

And then he came here. And he met wonderful, kind people who were suffering; who were struggling to have even their most basic needs met, yet were willing to help those around them, and a voice in the back of his head immediately began to ask the silent question:

_How could Heavenly Father let people live like this?_

He'd found himself asking as he met the villagers of Kitguli, each one carrying a different and equally horrific tale of illness, poverty, and violence. Nabalungi -- sweet, innocent, compassionate Nabalungi -- would be left as an orphan to fend for herself in a matter of months, maybe years if she was lucky. People were dying. _Children were dying._ Everyone lived in constant fear of a cruel man's reign of terror; a fear that Kevin had come to know all too well.  
_How could Heavenly Father let that happen to me?_

It was a question he might have asked God every day, if he had been on speaking terms with him. He hadn't uttered a prayer since the day at the General's camp. He couldn't bring himself to do it. But if he could, he was sure he would have plenty to say.

_Is this how you repay the people who have spent their whole lives serving you? Is this how you protect those who are traveling in your name? Is this how little you think of me? Is this the kind of "love" you feel for your children? How could you do this to a nineteen year old kid? How could you do this to me?_

_How could you do this to me?_

_How could you do this -_

Kevin didn't realize how hard he was squeezing the mug in his hands until a sharp clatter jolted him to reality, and he saw it before he felt it: shards of glass littered across the bottom of the sink. Blood on his hands. He stared at the red stream in dejected fascination for a moment, watching as the feeble spray of water from the faucet intermingled with the blood, pushing it from his skin and down the drain. Absently, he wondered when the pain would hit. He noted with a hint of distant fascination that he almost craved it. Just as a slight sting began to prickle at his fingers, a voice flew in from around the corner, almost making Kevin jump out of his skin.

"What happened? Is everything--"

Elder McKinley stopped in his tracks when he saw Kevin standing at the sink, eyes wide and hands dripping with--

* * *

_"Blood!"_ Elder McKinley choked out through his surprise, "You're bleeding!"

His eyes darted frantically around the kitchen before landing on a semi-soiled dish rag hanging from the oven door. He snatched it and immediately went to work wrapping it around Elder Price's hands, so focused on the task that he didn't notice how he winced at the sudden contact.

"What happened here?" McKinley questioned, panicking as the rag too-quickly filled with blood.

"It was an accident," Kevin mumbled, his voice feeble in a way Connor had heard it only once before. He scanned over Kevin's eyes, which were still focused - or rather, unfocused - in the direction of his hands. The soft patter of blood dripping onto the floor brought Connor back to attention as the rag overflowed.

"Shoot!" He sputtered, spinning Kevin around by the elbow, directing him over the sink once again. This time he noticed the flinch.

"Sorry," he muttered, unwrapping the rag to let the water clean the wounds. He felt a wave of dizziness threaten to knock him over at the sight. The cuts looked deep. And painful, though Kevin didn't seem to react to them as if they were. In fact, he didn't seem to react at all. Connor couldn't help but think that was not a positive sign.

"Should I call Gotswana?" He offered, unsure of his ability to stay vertical for much longer if the blood kept flowing.

And _that_ got his attention.

_"No."_

The sharpness of Kevin's response startled both of them, prompting them to meet each other's eyes for the briefest moment before Kevin retreated again.

"I just - no. Thank you. That won't be necessary," he backpedaled with a seemingly forced composure. Elder McKinley wasn't so sure he believed him, but his sharp reaction was enough to convince him not to push the issue.

Kevin made no effort to scrub his hands under the spray, so Connor took the initiative, hesitantly reaching for his hands, gently rubbing away the red, constantly watching for a negative reaction to the touch. When he received none, he relaxed into the soft, repetitive movements against Elder Price's skin, almost as if massaging them. He couldn't help but lose himself in the moment, unable to ignore the way the other Elder's hands felt against his. They were slightly larger than his own and as he brushed over the barely-calloused edges of his fingertips, he found himself wondering who Elder Price had been at home, before Uganda. Did he earn those rough patches of skin from strumming a guitar or holding a pencil too tight? Had he done physical labor, worked with his hands out in the sun, in the heat, sweat soaking through his --

_Turn it off._

Shaking himself free from the intrusive daydream, he felt his cheeks burn red, as if the other boy could read his thoughts through their skin contact. But Kevin gave no indication he was even aware of his touch. He realized then the water was running clear and the bleeding had stopped-- _thank God._ Kevin hadn't moved a muscle, so Connor was the one to shut the faucet off. The sudden halt in flow plunged them into a silence that seemed to shake Kevin awake, and he blinked a few times at the mess in the sink.

"I'll clean this up," he said absently, reaching for the shards in the basin, but Connor stopped him with a gentle hand.

"Woah, I think we've cleaned up enough of your blood today," he chuckled nervously.

He meant it as a joke, but immediately regretted the comment as Kevin's cheeks suddenly glowed red to match his own.

"I'm sorry," Kevin muttered again.

Connor frowned.

"So you've said," he replied, "Don't be. Accidents happen."

Kevin nodded but his expression didn't change. He dried his hands against the cloth of his pants and Connor wrestled with brain, begging his mouth to open and produce the words he'd been trying to say for days.

He was just about to - he really was, he _swears_ \- when Kevin cleared his throat.

"Uh, thank you for… that," he spoke stiffly before turning on his heel to make a break for it. Connor didn't have any more time to waste.

"Wait."

Kevin stopped and Connor froze, too, because he still wasn't really sure what he was even going to say. Just that he couldn't go one moment longer without saying _something._ But as Kevin stood with his back to him, Connor could see the small patch of purple skin that peeked out from under his sleeve, just barely. The same bruises he'd noticed the night he stumbled home, but much more prominent now. It looked painful, and he couldn't help but wonder if that wasn't the only one.

Connor didn't have to say anything. When Kevin turned back to him, he followed his gaze to the spot on his arm and immediately tugged on the stiff sleeve of his missionary shirt. Even though they had been testing the waters outside of their church-regulated guidelines, none of the Elders had the time or resources yet to purchase street clothes. In that moment, the inconvenience was particularly bothersome because Kevin couldn't seem to cover the bruise adequately and eventually settled for placing his hand over the offending area and curling his shoulders in.

"It's nothing," he commented toward the floor.

"It's something," Connor insisted, surprised at how steady his voice sounded, "It's _been_ something. And you've been avoiding it. Avoiding me."

Kevin closed his eyes, his head falling back a little in an exhausted gesture.

"Why can't you let this go?"

"I did," Connor retorted, "I tried. But it's obvious that _whatever_ this is isn't going away."

He took a slight step closer, wincing at how the other boy flinched at the gesture. He lowered his voice.

"You were _bleeding_ that night when you came home, Elder Price," he whispered sternly, "You have bruises. Clearly something happened to you, and I can't just ignore it."

_I can't ignore you._

"Yes, you can."

"Elder Price, whatever it is, you're not doing yourself any favors by keeping it locked in," he paused, eyes scanning over Kevin's, "Trust me on that."

"Suddenly you're the poster child for airing out your feelings?" Kevin retorted, more sharply than he had spoken in days.

Connor licked his lips, pushing down the ball of guilt that started to rise back up, and stepped closer.

"If this is about," he looked around and lowered his voice, " _turning it off_ … that's. It's just. That's a _me_ thing, and I never should have pushed it on you guys the way I did."

"Do as you say, not as you do?" Kevin raised a sarcastic eyebrow, and Connor was almost relieved to see the spark of life back in Kevin's eyes, even if it was in the form of aggression. Even if it was geared toward him.

"Something like that," Connor tried for a smile. Kevin did not reciprocate.

"I'm worried about you," he tried again.

"You don't have to be. Officially, our district no longer exists. You have no obligation to me as a district leader anymore."

"It doesn't mean I can't be your friend."

Connor felt the tips of his ears heat up as he said the words, but his own vulnerability was inconsequential if it meant helping Elder Price. And it wasn't entirely a waste, because Connor saw something - brief, but decidedly _there_ \- flash in Kevin's eyes before he looked down.

"I appreciate your concern, Elder," Kevin spoke evenly, detached, "But it's nothing I can't handle on my own."

"Are you, though?" Connor challenged, " _Are_ you handling it?"

Kevin's mouth opened and closed, his eyes wincing slightly as if wounded by some thought he tried to shake free.

"I'm doing the best I can."

* * *

The terrible thing about "doing the best you can" was that sometimes, on the outside, it looked a whole lot like doing nothing at all.

It wasn't as if Kevin wasn't trying. In the past couple of weeks, Kevin had made a genuine effort to show his face to the other elders. They had a lot to figure out, after all, if they intended to stay in Uganda without the backing of the church. So he would make his presence subtly known in the background of every house meeting (always led by Elder McKinley, who was doing a much better job at hiding his panic than he probably gave himself credit for). He never contributed much to the conversation, but at least he was _there,_ nodding and smiling and agreeing, even when his mind slipped away from him and into the fog that had settled in around him weeks ago and never quite dissipated. He supposed that was his life now. Learning to navigate through the fog.

He had managed to keep up a halfway decent facade, too. Until, just like everything else on this cursed mission, it all went to shit.

It was a small kitchen, Kevin knew that, logically, and he also knew that nobody quite enjoyed the lack of space. It was especially annoying in the mornings, when everyone woke up (at the same time, as old habits die hard) and rushed to the kitchen to scrounge for whatever scraps of food they were working with that day. Kevin knew this, but what the other Elders didn't know was that when they were waking up to the shrill cry of their alarm clocks, Kevin had already been awake for hours, eyes red and dry and hollow from staring at his ceiling for so long. It was only a matter of time before the sleep deprivation caught up with him. He just hadn't expected it to manifest itself in such a public display of anger.

Poor Neely had been the unsuspecting victim that day. Kevin had been standing at the counter, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with the artifact of a coffee maker Arnold had bought for him at the market. It was a kind gesture, and Kevin appreciated the gift as the silent peace offering it was intended to be, but at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to chuck it against the wall as it refused to spit out the glorious black nectar of the gods he craved so desperately. He shouldn't have been surprised it stopped working -- the thing was probably older than him. But he wasn't thinking with logic. He was exhausted and frustrated and desperate for just _one thing_ to go right, and then Neely knocked into him. It was just a nudge, at first, as he reached for the cups in the cabinet above Kevin's head. Kevin only flinched a little at the move, quickly refocusing his efforts on the petulant device. A moment later, another bump against his backside, a little harder this time as Neely squeezed behind him to open a drawer. Kevin closed his eyes, trying to even out the spike in his heart rate with a steady breath. When the third bump came, it was strong enough to knock the coffee pot out of Kevin's hands, sending it tumbling to the floor. The glass didn't break, but something inside Kevin sure did.

_"Can't you ever watch where you're going?" Kevin spat with more venom than he thought he could even manage._

_Every eye in the room fell on him, the light buzz of chatter in the room drawing silent._

_"Hey, I'm sorry, man," Neely assured him, eyes wide, crouching down to retrieve the fallen pot, "It was an accident."_

_"Have you ever considered there are other people in this house?"_

_"Hey, buddy," Arnold interjected calmly as Kevin's voice continued to rise, "I don't think he meant to do anything. It was an honest mistake."_

_Kevin turned his laser beam eyes toward his companion, anger taking the reins._

_"Oh, so you're taking his side?" Kevin shouted, knowing full well how insane he sounded, "I thought you were my partner?!"_

_Arnold looked genuinely hurt, and Kevin had a brief moment of clarity through the red haze and almost apologized until Elder McKinley burst into the room, hands on his hips._

_"What's with all the shouting?" He demanded, eyes scanning over every eye in the room except the culprit's. A seemingly intentional move. It wasn't until everyone's gaze silently pointed to Kevin that Elder McKinley forced his to follow suit._

_"Elder Price," his voice was irritatingly soft when he addressed him, "Would you like to explain what's going on?"_

_Something about the way he spoke to him, the way he had handled him like a glass egg from the night he caught him stumbling home after dark, twisted painfully in his stomach. He hated it. He clenched his fists at his sides, swallowing back all the words he desperately wanted to shout. Instead, settling for:_

_"It doesn't matter."_

_It was the closest thing to the truth he had spoken in days. Nothing did matter. Not anymore._

With that, he had stormed to his room, and he hadn't left much since then. Every time he did, he was met with questioning stares and awkward silence and the occasional stink eye from Neely. It was better inside his room. Safer. No one could touch him, on accident or on purpose, in there. He couldn't be a burden to anyone in there.

_Knock knock knock._

Kevin closed his eyes against the creak of the bedroom door, burrowing further into his pillow.

"Hey, Kev?" Elder Cunningham's voice came from the doorway, soft and cautious and completely out of character. It coiled a spring of anger in Kevin's stomach that he couldn't quite explain. He just wanted to be left alone.

When his greeting went unanswered, Arnold cleared his throat and tried again.

"Hey, so. Elder McKinley -- Uh, Connor, he said we could call him Connor now -- He's taking a bunch of us to the market to try and find some new clothes."

Kevin continued to ignore him.

"You know," Arnold continued, and Kevin could practically see him twisting his hands in front of him as he did when he was nervous, "Like, non-missionary clothes. Since we don't have to wear those anymore. Which is kind of good because I never liked the outfit much anyway. White's not really in my color wheel -- that's what Connor told me."

Kevin said nothing in response, only pulled the blanket a little tighter over his shoulders despite the sweltering heat.

"I just thought I would see if, you know, maybe you wanted to come with me. With us. Since we're mission companions and all."

_We're not mission companions anymore,_ Kevin wanted to retort, _Because we're not missionaries anymore._

But even the act of moving his mouth to form the words felt like too much for him to manage. Instead, he lay still, eyes unfocused in the direction of the small window above his bed. Arnold was silent now, even though Kevin could still feel his presence lingering in the doorway. 

"It's just that you haven't really come out of our room in a while -- and that's okay! I'm not mad or blaming you or...well, I..." he trailed off, never the best with finding the right words to say, "I'm worried about you, okay?" 

Beyond the numbness and the shred of anger that crept in around the edges, Kevin felt a prickle of something else. Gratitude? Guilt? A mixture of both. He was surprised to feel his eyes wet with unshed tears. 

"I'm fine," Kevin managed, not even attempting to throw a glance over his shoulder, "I don't feel like going anywhere." 

"Are you sure?" 

The earnestness in his voice was enough to spill a single tear over. He was grateful Arnold couldn't see his face. 

"I'm sure," he said, and then, "Thanks, buddy." 

He heard the door start to close and then open again as Arnold forced his voice up half an octave, brimming with hope, no matter how false. 

"Maybe later we can hang out or something," he suggested, "I'll even go to that Kafe with you, if you want." 

Kevin closed his eyes. 

"Yeah," he lied, "maybe." 

And with that, Arnold was gone, and he was alone again. 

* * *

He woke, gasping, to another knock on the door. He took a few shuddering breaths to calm himself before Arnold could open the door and see him unhinged from the nightmare. He'd already seen enough. 

"Come in," Kevin replied once he was confident his voice was under control. 

But it wasn't Arnold's face staring back at him from the other side. 

"Hi, Elder Price," Elder McKinley greeted softly from the doorway. 

"Kevin," he muttered flatly, pulling himself up into a sitting position and bringing his knees up to his chest. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"My first name is Kevin. Since we're not… you know." 

There was a moment of silence before the district leader cleared his throat, an air of unfamiliarity taking over his voice. 

"Right. Okay. Kevin," he repeated, "I'm Connor." 

"I know. Arnold told me." 

"Oh. Good," he nodded, then hesitated a moment more, "Can I come in?" 

Kevin offered no more than a shrug, but it was all the invitation Connor needed to step in and close the door behind him. 

"I, um. I got you something." 

At this, Kevin's interest peaked only slightly, just enough for him to offer a glance in his direction. When he did, he found a very nervous looking Elder McKinley holding out a blue tee-shirt with a faded logo of Cinderella's castle on it. He felt something go soft in his heart. The warmest sensation he'd felt in weeks. 

"I found this at the market," he explained, almost bashfully, "I thought that even if you didn't feel like going today, you probably don't want to be stuck wearing your missionary uniform everyday for… however long. And I remembered Elder Cun- Er, Arnold - saying how much you liked Disney, so..." 

He trailed off, his gaze dipping to the floor as if he suddenly felt embarrassed for the whole gesture. Kevin wanted to tell him not to be. He wanted to tell him that it was the nicest thing anyone had done for him since he had arrived here, and maybe even beyond that. Most strangely of all, he felt the sudden, irresistible urge to reach out with his fingertips and lift the other boy's chin, bring his eyes up to meet his own so he could see the gratitude for himself. 

But Kevin didn't do any of that. He couldn't, because his body was disconnected from his brain these days, and his mouth couldn't ever seem to form the words he wanted to say. So, he settled for what he could manage. 

"Thank you." 

Connor shuffled awkwardly across the room, neatly folding the shirt and placing it at the foot of the bed before stepping back again. 

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I'll leave you be now." 

Kevin was surprised by the pang of sadness he felt at his parting words, especially since solitude was all he had wanted for days, but he nodded anyway, eyes dropping to his lap. Connor was almost to the door when he stopped mid-stride, turning back to Kevin slowly. He glanced up and saw hesitance in his eyes. 

"Actually," Connor began, hands wringing nervously, "Can I talk to you about something else?" 

Just like that, the brief warmth was replaced with cold dread in Kevin's stomach. Connor seemed to have anticipated that reaction, because he raised a reassuring hand. 

"I'm not going to hound you about… you know," he said softly, crossing to sit on the edge of Arnold's bed across from him, "But I need to say something. For me, and for you." 

Kevin wasn't so sure, despite his reassurance, but he nodded anyway, a silent invitation for him to continue. But now it was Connor who seemed to be struggling. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, letting out a long breath that trailed into a quiet chuckle. Finally, he slapped both hands onto his thighs in a decisive gesture, sliding his palms over the material of his new pants. 

"I'm gay." 

Kevin blinked. 

"I'm gay," he repeated, the words sounding a bit more confident the second time, "And I've known this for… for a long time. But I kept lying to myself, and pushing it away, pushing it down and in and--" 

He shook his head, swallowing hard, as if he were choking out each word. 

"My point is, I don't want to lie anymore," he evened Kevin's blank stare with a surprisingly calm one, "I realize now that turning it off was hurting me. And I don't want to hurt anymore." 

Kevin could see the hint of tears gathering in the man's eyes, and was surprised again to feel such a strong reaction to the sight of it. Though, he wasn't sure they were necessarily tears of sadness he was seeing. 

"I'm telling you this because," his voice broke, and he looked down to gain composure before meeting Kevin's eyes again, "You were right to call me out. I _was_ telling you to do as I said and not as I did, and that's not a very good thing for a leader to do. And I'm going to do better, because I want everyone else to get better." 

He paused. 

"I want _you_ to get better." 

Kevin lowered his head, because he was sure now that he wouldn't be able to stop the onslaught of tears. The creak of bedsprings across from him indicated that Connor was leaving again, and Kevin tried his hand at forming words once more. 

"Thank you," was all he could muster once again, but it seemed to be enough for the district leader, who flashed him a small smile before retreating into the hallway and closing the door. 

When he was gone, the words Connor had spoken into the room lingered all around him, bouncing off the walls in echoes, brushing up against his skin. He allowed himself a moment to let the meaning sink over him. He was only a little surprised to find that he was crying again. After a few minutes, he began to slide back down into a horizontal position, reaching for the familiar safety of his blanket, but he caught a glimpse of the tee shirt out of the corner of his eye, and he stopped. He hesitated for a moment, staring at the faded blue material, wrestling with the thoughts in his head that threatened to pull him in half. Then, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the sturdiness of the floor beneath his feet, and found the strength to stand. To cross the room, to grab his towel from the hook on the door, and to venture out of the room. 

Connor's words weren't magical. They did nothing to erase the past or ease Kevin's suffering, but they did _something._ He wasn't even sure _what_ exactly. He wasn't sure about anything. But later that night, when Kevin forced himself out into the crowded living room, fresh out of his first shower in days and sporting his new Disney tee shirt, he watched Connor's eyes light up from across the room and for the first time in weeks, felt the possibility slip over him that, someday, maybe, he could feel okay again. 


	2. A Graceless Winner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warning for all the same topics addressed, and brief descriptions of assault**

The weight of secrecy was not something Kevin Price was prepared for.

When he made a vow to himself and the doctor and whatever God might have been listening that he would never tell a soul what happened, he couldn’t have imagined just how heavy a burden he was shackling to himself. He couldn’t have known what that kind of isolation did to the mind, to the soul. To the body. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to come clean. He didn’t know how. He didn’t have the words. Sometimes, if he let them, razor sharp words would attach themselves to the inside of his brain and cut away at him in his worst moments. Four letter words he’d heard crassly shouted across a middle school playground, phrases he’d heard only on TV and never thought about as something that could exist in _his world_. He would desperately shake them free, terrified of the sting that accompanied their presence and the heavy weight of their implications. Because that didn’t happen to men, and it certainly didn’t happen to people like him. _It couldn’t have._

But as determined as he was to conceal the truth from Elder McKinley, from his companion, from the other elders… hiding the truth from himself was an impossible hope.

Nighttime was the worst. Kevin dreaded the moment he saw orange beams of light stream through the curtains of the mission house. Because each golden sunset signaled the onset of night, and in his case, the starting bell of an eight-hour wrestling match against his own mind. A match in which, it was worth noting, he had yet to win a single round. He was grateful on these nights for Arnold’s thoughtful gift of a coffee maker, defective as it might be sometimes. He was at least ninety percent sure he was making it incorrectly, and he certainly didn’t remember Kimbe’s brew having quite so much _texture_ to it, but it served its purpose. Most of the time. 

There were some nights when even a third cup of coffee wasn’t enough to fight off the sleep that chased him into the darkness. And while sleep proved itself a worthy opponent, it was also, unfortunately, a graceless winner. It wasn’t enough to just claim its defeat over his heavy eyelids and trembling hands, but the worst of its attack came after his eyes were closed, kicking him when he was already tapped out. The nightmares were unlike anything he had experienced before, making his childhood dreams about hell and the devil feel like a Hallmark movie in comparison. They gripped him completely when he succumbed to them, leaving no room for logic and reason in their presence. When he woke, there was no telling the real from the fake, nor the past from the present. When they relinquished their grip, they deposited him in a pathetic heap of a person, shaking, crying, sweating and always so very, very alone. 

He wasn’t so deluded to think that Arnold hadn’t at least witnessed some of it. He was a heavy sleeper, sure, but there was only so much you could ignore when your beds were five feet apart. Once, he could have sworn he looked over just in time to see him clamp his eyes shut in feigned slumber as Kevin pulled himself out of a particularly brutal episode, struggling to catch his breath. They hadn’t spoken about it the next morning, much to Kevin’s relief, Arnold carrying on with his usual chipper routine. But Kevin hadn’t missed the way he watched him carefully from his side at breakfast the next morning, nor the way he was a little more generous about granting Kevin personal space in their bedroom the following night. 

He tried his best to keep up a healthy charade for the sake of the house. He had made the conscious decision to stay here in Uganda when the mission president shut down their mission, so he was just as responsible for finding a way to make things work as the rest of them. He was trying so hard to get better about learning to temper his responses when people came too close to him or voices escalated in his proximity, but with no help and no real grasp on what was actually happening to his quickly spiraling mind, it felt like a losing battle. On the days it worked, when he would close his eyes and force deep breaths into his lungs and slowly feel his heart rate drop back to normal, he would feel the tiniest sliver of pride and, dare he say, hope. And then the bad days would come. The days where the tiniest brush against his skin would send his mind reeling, throwing him to the wolves that seemed to circle his existence at all times, and it would wipe away any ounce of progress he’d mistakenly thought he’d earned. 

Kevin Price was so, very tired of carrying the weight. But every day, he was forced to remember that he was the one who chose to pick it up, and he was the only one with the power to let it go. He just couldn't.

And so the vicious cycle continued. If he couldn’t learn to relinquish his hold on it, he supposed his only other option was to wait until, inevitably, it crushed him.

* * *

“Mom. Hi. It’s me, Kevin.”

He waited a beat before letting his head fall back against the wall with a thud, expelling a long sigh through his nose. 

“Shit,” he whispered to himself, closing his eyes, “No. Of course she knows it's you. Stupid.”

He’d been holding the phone in his lap for a good twenty minutes, his grip on it slipping as his palms grew clammier. He needed to just _do it._ It was absurd for him to have put it off so long. It was his _mom_. It would be fine. 

But he knew it was a lot more complicated than that. 

He had only called once since the excommunication. His brain had been in a particularly fragile state at the time, and what he does remember of the phone call came in foggy bits and pieces. He recalled his mother crying. His father yelling. He was pretty sure he apologized, probably more times than necessary, as it seemed to be the only words he could formulate at the time. And he _was_ sorry, truly sorry, for more reasons than he cared to explain. 

He wondered if they even wanted to hear from him now. Sure, they were angry, but they were his _parents_. And yet, of all the terrible paths the conversation could take, a small part of him had to admit that his biggest fear was that they wouldn’t pick up at all. 

He lifted the phone from his lap once more, unsure of when his fingers had started trembling but certainly finding it more difficult now to navigate the buttons. He got three digits in before the door clicked open and his head shot up in surprise to see Connor. 

“Oh,” Connor blinked in surprise at the ex-missionary on the floor of his office, drawn up against the wall, “Hi.”

“Sorry,” Kevin blurted, eyes wide, “Elder Thomas -- um, Poptarts -- told me you wouldn’t mind if I used your office phone. I can go.” 

He was already halfway up when Connor hurried to stop him. 

“No!” he waved, “No, please, of course it’s okay. I’m sorry for interrupting.”

He was about to step back out the door when Kevin felt the strange but compelling urge to pull him back. 

“You’re not interrupting,” he replied a little too quickly, relieved when Connor turned back to him. He looked at Kevin with expectant eyes, and a few moments of silence passed before Kevin realized he must have looked like he wanted to say something more. His brain scrambled to find words, unfortunately landing on the truth.

“I haven’t even dialed out yet,” he admitted into the air, and Connor’s eyebrows wrinkled together a bit. 

“Oh?” 

Kevin looked away, unsure of why he was saying this and why, exactly, it was that he wanted Connor to stay in the room with him. He told himself it was probably to have an excuse not to make the call.

“Yeah,” Kevin said, “I can’t… I mean, I _can_ , I just… can’t seem to make myself do it, I guess?”

“Who are you trying to call?”

Kevin glanced down at the phone in his lap, switching it from one hand to the other.

“My mom.”

At this, Connor stepped a little further into the room, gently cracking the door behind him without fully closing it. He crossed the room until he reached his desk, folding himself onto the floor so that he leaned against it, facing Kevin. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he offered. 

Kevin shrugged. After a few moments passed with no offering of words, Connor took it upon himself to continue. 

“I haven’t talked to my mom much, either,” he said, “Not since everything.”

“Do _you_ want to talk about it?” Kevin’s lips turned up at the corner. 

Connor chuckled softly, a genuine but sad smile tugging at his lips. 

“There’s not much to report,” he shrugged, trying and failing to sound nonchalant, “She already knew I was a disappointment before all this. Maybe the whole failed-missionary thing came as less of a shock to her in that way.” 

A pang of hurt swelled in Kevin’s chest at his words. 

“I don’t think you’re a disappointment.”

The sad smile made another appearance.

“I appreciate that,” he said, “It’s just complicated, I guess.”

Kevin disagreed.

“I don’t think it’s that complicated,” he backpedaled a moment at Connor’s look of surprise, “Not that... I don’t mean to say that you’re wrong or that I know more about your situation. I just…”

He trailed off, his own brow furrowing as he tried to figure out what it was he wanted to say. 

“I just think you’re a good person, that’s all,” he settled, then softly, shyly, “You’ve been... nice to me.”

Connor blinked at him, his expression softening into something unfamiliar and decidedly pleasant. 

“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?” he nudged his socked foot teasingly with his, “I happen to think you’re a pretty good person, too.”

Kevin’s shoulders tensed slightly, curling forward as he dropped his eyes to Connor’s knees. 

“I don’t know.”

Even with his eyes averted, he could feel Connor watching him. He set the phone in his lap and began picking anxiously at the skin around his nail, a nervous habit he had never been able to kick, no matter how many times his mom had swatted his hands away. 

_“You’re going to end up bleeding, Kevin, knock it off,”_ she would say. And he would stop for a few minutes because he wanted to listen to his mom, he really did. He wanted to be good, wanted to make her happy. But she would shoot him a steely look less than five minutes later because he was doing it again, even though he swore he didn’t notice he was. He never knew how to tell her that he couldn’t always make himself stop. That he only did it when his brain was moving too fast in a hundred directions and his breathing was starting to get away from him and he needed it to slow down. He never knew how to tell her a lot of things. He didn’t know how to tell her anything now, when he wanted to, _needed_ to, the most. 

“My offer still stands, you know,” Connor pulled him from his thoughts, his voice quiet and careful, “You can talk to me about…” he waved his hand in front of him, “Anything, just. Whatever.”

Kevin nodded, his fingers still working at the tiny sliver of skin he’d managed to pick loose on his thumb.

“Thanks,” he said. 

Connor hesitated for a moment, his hands wringing nervously in front of him as he seemed to debate something in his head. Kevin met his eyes, prompting him to say whatever it was he wanted to say.

“I think,” he started hesitantly, choosing his words carefully, “If you opened yourself up a little bit, you’d be surprised to find a lot of people in this house might be dealing with similar things. And they’d be happy to help you.”

Kevin doubted that very much, every part of it.

“I don’t think anyone here likes me very much,” the confession spilled out of Kevin without him really meaning to. 

Connor frowned at him, eyes glinting with something like sadness. 

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Kevin looked up at him incredulously.

“I don’t, really,” Connor swore, then smiled ruefully, “Okay, maybe you came on a little strong when you first got here. You were just trying to deal with the hand you were dealt. But you’ve… I don’t know, cooled down since then.”

A tight ball formed in Kevin's stomach. What Connor didn’t know was that his ‘cooling down’ entailed the shattering of a lot of fundamental pieces of who he was. That it came with one hell of a catalyst. 

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Connor hastily backtracked, reading Kevin’s reaction. 

“It’s okay,” Kevin shook his head, because it was. He couldn’t be mad at Connor for speaking the truth. “I know I was kind of a jerk.”

Connor’s face fell.

“No,” he sounded absolutely devastated, “Please, don’t think I was saying that at all. I just meant --”

He was cut off by the muffled sound of the front door slamming shut, accompanied by several sets of heavy footfalls and frantic chatter. Kevin and Connor made brief eye contact before they both pushed themselves into a standing position, Connor leading them to investigate the disturbance. He paused briefly as they reached the doorway, seeking out Kevin’s eyes.

“We can talk later, if you want,” he said quietly, apology in his voice. Kevin only nodded curtly before nudging him toward the living room.

They arrived to find the other elders in a cluster in the living room, several of them struggling to catch their breath. 

“What’s going on?” Connor asked as they rounded the corner.

The room turned to them, seeming to deflate a bit with relief at their leader's presence. Kevin noticed Elder Church standing quietly in the back, his face paler than usual and an barely-detectable tremor wracking his thin frame. 

“It was horrible,” Poptarts stepped forward, his eyes wide and frantic, “He was yelling and screaming at people and he started waving a gun around,” he paused, lowering his voice to add, “I think he was drunk.”

Kevin saw Elder Church blink hard as his own heart rate jumped in his chest.

“What are you talking about?” Connor said, reaching out to rest a hand on his shaken companion’s shoulder, “Who? Where?”

“We were over at the market,” Elder Michaels chimed in, “We were trying to find tomatoes for tonight’s dinner, and when we came around the corner, he was there and he had some lady by the arm, and he had a gun and we just... We wanted to stop it, but… but we didn’t know what to do so we ran back here as fast as we could.”

“I don’t think he shot anybody,” Arnold shook his head, his face betraying the memory of last time he had witnessed something so terrible, “We didn’t hear a gunshot.”

“Wait, wait, slow down,” Connor closed his eyes, holding out a hand, “Who are we talking about here?”

“I don’t know his name,” Poptarts spoke up again, “One of the General’s guards.”

A high pitched ringing exploded in Kevin’s eardrums, drowning out all other noise in the house. He was dizzy. So dizzy, and it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Out of his lungs. 

_He was here. In the village._

Poptarts was saying something else to Connor, he could make out the vague shape of his lips moving through the blur that threatened to overtake his vision, but he couldn’t understand any of the words. He stumbled backwards half a step, then catching on his own foot, another.

_Maybe he wasn’t alone. What if he wasn’t alone?_

He blinked hard and when he opened his eyes, Connor was facing him, saying something he couldn’t make out. He felt a touch land on his shoulder and jerked away, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he tried to say, “I’m sorry,” but he was pretty sure none of the words actually came out. 

“Kevin?” He heard, but he wasn’t sure if it was Connor or Arnold or one of the others, because the only person he could hear was the one that was laughing darkly in his ear, squeezing his wrist, taunting him over the sound of a distant scream that was growing louder and louder and louder and --

“I’m sorry,” he choked out before pushing past the wall of concerned faces, desperately pawing at the wall for support as he fled to the nearest room.

As soon as the door closed behind him, hand fumbling blindly for the lock, he collapsed his weight back against it, fingers threading through his hair and squeezing tight. Everything was spinning. He couldn’t breathe. What was happening to him? He felt like he was going to pass out. He felt like he was going to _scream._ It was building in his throat, sharp and ragged, and he quickly curled his arm tightly around the bottom half of his face, pressing his mouth into his sleeve as hard as he could. His breath came in quick, ragged spurts against his bicep as he struggled to get enough oxygen, but he kept his mouth pushed against the material anyway, sure that a scream would tear free from his throat if he dared release it. 

_A cloth is shoved roughly into his mouth. Fingers in his hair. A sweaty palm scrubbed gracelessly down his cheek_

"No," he practically squeaked, clamping his eyes shut against the onslaught of memories, "No, no, no."

_He's crying so hard he can't breathe through his nose. He chokes around the filthy rag in his mouth, desperate for air. He opens his eyes and finds himself staring into the face of one of the nameless guards beside him. He has lowered his gun to his side, a hand reaching down to rub against the front of his shorts. Kevin clamps his eyes shut again and prays for God to kill him, please, kill him, just let it be over._

He was sobbing into his arm, tears staining the blue material of his shirt, his entire body vibrating from the strain of keeping quiet. He had never felt so out of control in his life, and he feared he might be truly, genuinely losing his mind. He felt a knock on the wooden door against his back and nearly jumped out of his skin, unable to stop the muffled yelp that escaped him.

“Buddy?” He heard Arnold’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door, “You alright in there?”

Slowly, he dropped his trembling arm from his mouth, swallowing thickly. He cleared his throat, putting up a pathetic impersonation of normalcy. 

“Y-yeah,” he croaked, “All good.”

He could practically feel Arnold hovering on the other side and held his breath, waiting for further questioning that was sure to come. 

“Are you sure?” His voice was higher pitched now, laden with concern, “You just… didn’t seem to be doing so hot a second ago.”

Kevin bit his lips together, struggling for a nod before realizing stupidly that Arnold couldn’t see him.

“Yes,” he spoke again, this time a little clearer, “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second.”

He waited until he heard Arnold’s hesitant footsteps retreat down the hall before he let out his breath, slumping over against the door. When he finally got a hold on his breathing, the black spots clearing from his vision, he slowly uncurled his body to stand upright again. When he was fully vertical, he was confronted by his unobstructed reflection in the mirror, and he froze. Something inside him sank at the jarring imagery in front of him. He stared back at the person in the mirror with a look of horrified fascination, tracing over the bloodshot eyes that welled with moisture, the blotchy redness of the skin that surrounded the sunken hollows beneath his eyes, the veins that had swollen from strain in his forehead, his throat. He lifted a cautious hand to his cheek, almost shocked to feel the pressure of his own fingertips against his skin as the person in the mirror made contact. He was staring at a stranger. 

He couldn’t keep living like this. 

* * *


	3. After Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay look, given my track record for updating, two weeks isn't so bad. 
> 
> **warning for depictions of sexual assault**

Kevin Price was wearing _glasses._ That was what his brain chose to cling to. Not, _Kevin is up way past his curfew,_ or _Kevin is standing in front of a half-full pot of coffee at one-thirty in the morning._ No. All Connor could focus on were the thick, black frames that circled his eyes, falling slightly down the bridge of his nose as he turned to Connor in surprise. 

“Oh. Elder-- Connor. Hi.” 

Connor swallowed, pushing down the soft flutter in his chest at the sight before him that had no right to be as adorable as it was, and gave his best impression of smooth composure. 

“I know we agreed on some rule-bending,” he said, “but this seems like a strange time for coffee.”

“Ah, yeah,” Kevin rubbed the back of his neck, looking somehow cuter when he was guilty, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Connor raised an eyebrow toward the coffee maker. 

“I don’t think that’s going to help matters much.”

Kevin followed his gaze, fidgeting with the lip of the counter. 

“I know,” he spoke softly. 

The inflection was an abrupt shift from the lighthearted banter and Connor immediately felt guilty. The scent began to waft throughout the small kitchen and he found himself wondering, not for the first time, if it could possibly taste as good as it smelled. It was apparent that Elder Price had no intention of going back to bed, his threadbare reply offering no invitation for discussion, and Connor felt a strange pull in his chest at the idea of leaving him out here alone. Decisively, he cleared his throat, lifting his eyes to the tired boy in front of him. 

“Is there enough in there for two?” He asked.

Elder Price’s eyes widened briefly, looking surprised and maybe even amused behind the black frames. 

_”You’re_ going to drink coffee?” He questioned. Connor snorted.

“If God is keeping count of my transgressions, this one will be pretty far down on the list.”

Kevin studied him for a moment before a small smile tugged at his lips, and he turned to the cabinet to retrieve a second mug. Connor leaned against the wall as they waited for the machine to stop sputtering.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Connor noted casually, sounding _totally cool_ and not at all like he was seconds away from licking the boy’s face, which he definitely was _not_. Elder Price glanced up at him, a flush of embarrassment tracing his features.

“Oh,” he absently pushed the bridge up his nose again, “I don’t, normally. I wear contacts during the day, but I’m running low. Most of them were in my bag that got, um... Stolen.”

Connor offered a sympathetic smile, remembering how he’d had to lend Elder Price some extra clothes to get him through until his replacement uniforms arrived. The shirts had been a little tighter than he needed, but Connor didn’t really mind the view. 

“You certainly had a rough first few days, didn’t you?” 

Instead of the rueful smile Connor had hoped to earn, Kevin cleared his throat, dropping his attention to the now full pot in front of him. Connor watched as he struggled to smooth out his expression as he grabbed the handle and filled each mug halfway. When he extended one to Connor, his smile was careful. The one Connor had come to know well.

“How do you take it?” Kevin asked, gesturing with the mug. Connor looked down at the brown liquid, frowning. 

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, right,” Kevin said, his bottom lip jutting out slightly, “I think we’re actually out of milk, anyway.”

Connor raised his mug in invitation. 

“Black, it is,” he cheered. 

Kevin clinked his glass softly against his and the two brought their drinks to their lips in unison. Kevin swallowed easily, his eyes fluttering closed at the inaugural sip. Connor hesitated for a moment, watching Kevin over the rim of his cup before tilting the first bit of liquid into his mouth. He pulled back immediately.

“Ouch,” Connor exclaimed quietly, “It’s hot.”

Kevin hid a small smile behind his cup. 

“That’s the idea.”

“And it’s disgusting.”

Kevin shrugged at that, taking another sip as the tendrils of steam fogged up the inner corners of his glasses: decidedly the cutest thing that Connor had ever seen.

“It’s an acquired taste.”

* * *

The living room felt different when it was just the two of them. The soft lamplight haloed the tendrils of auburn that fell against Connor’s skin, free from the confines of the gel that held them in place during the day. He almost looked like a different person. Like an alter ego that only came out after dark. Kevin couldn’t ignore the small spark of excitement at the idea of being the only one here to see him like this. Like it was their little secret. 

Kevin liked Connor’s hair, he decided. And his skin. Mostly, he liked the way things felt quiet when they were alone together. Not only the living room itself, which normally either housed the chatter of teenage ex-Mormons or the internal scream of his midnight solitude, but also Kevin’s mind. There was something about Connor’s presence that made Kevin feel… not safe, necessarily, as he was quite sure he would never get to feel that again. But as close to safe as he could get. He didn’t understand it, but Kevin was hardly in the position to turn away reprieve in any form it presented itself, and with Connor, he found, the last thing he wanted to do was turn away. 

“They look nice on you.”

Kevin looked up from behind his mug, staring blankly at him from across the couch.

“The glasses,” Connor clarified, “They suit you.”

Kevin felt suddenly self-conscious and wished he could take them off without the room going blurry around him.

“They’re too big,” Kevin shrugged, fidgeting with one of the armpieces, “I look ridiculous.”

“They’re nice,” Connor disagreed, “Very _Clark Kent.”_

“They were the only ones my mom’s insurance covered,” Kevin said, then added, “My friends at school told me I looked better without them, so I saved up my allowance to buy contacts.”

Connor frowned.

“They don’t sound like very good friends.”

Kevin considered it, thinking back to the handful of guys from his track team he used to hang around in high school. He was surprised to realize that details of their faces and voices had begun to fade from his memory, even though it had only been a few months since graduation. It was a testament, he supposed, to how little a genuine connection he actually had with them at the time. Or perhaps, a testament to just how much he had seen since. 

“They weren’t all bad,” Kevin mostly lied, trying to sound nonchalant, “It was nice they wanted to hang out with me.”

Whether Connor was frowning from his words or from the aftertaste of coffee as he pulled his mug away from his lips, Kevin wasn’t sure.

“What do you mean?” Connor asked, watching him with a sudden scrutiny that made Kevin turn his attention to the snagged skin next to his fingernail. He picked at it, feeling a familiar tingle in his fingertips, heat rising to his face. He shouldn’t have said anything. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, his voice coming out higher than intended, “I was kind of a loser in high school.”

Connor nearly choked. 

“You?” He set his cup down on the coffee table beside them, “ _The_ Kevin Price, a loser? I have a very hard time believing that.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. Of course Connor McKinley would give him more credit than he deserved. 

“Being top of my class at the missionary training center is very different from being the only Mormon kid at your high school,” Kevin explained, “Doesn’t exactly earn you a lot of points.”

“Really?” Connor raised his eyebrows, “The only one? In Salt Lake City?”

“It was a small school,” he said, “One of those STEM academies.”

Connor studied him for a moment, his sad expression masking into a mischievous smile as he picked up his coffee again. 

“Oh, so a loser _and_ a nerd, then,” he nodded, taking a sip, “Got it.” 

Kevin couldn’t help it; he felt the corners of his mouth turning up at Connor’s infectious cheek. He did his best to push away the tingle of… of something, in his chest, and tried to match the sarcastic tone.

“What about you, then?” Kevin retorted, “What was high school like for _The_ Elder McKinley?”

Connor maintained his smile, but Kevin saw a flicker of something else in his eyes before he smoothed over it. 

“It was fine,” he said plainly. 

“Fine?”

“Yeah, fine,” he shrugged, and then, “It’s not really an era I like to talk about.”

Kevin’s smile fell. 

“Oh,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Connor waved him off, “We’re out now, right? And we never have to go back. That’s why I kept my head down and just told myself it would all be worth it when I got far, far away from that place.”

“Like, to go on your mission?” 

Connor chuckled.

“Well, that certainly did get me far away, didn’t it?”

It certainly did. Kevin vividly remembered the day he had gotten word of his mission placement. The cold tingle of anxiety and disappointment under his skin. The feeling of his lungs filling with concrete as a few realizations fell on him in rapid succession He had to wonder if Connor had felt the same. Surely Uganda wasn’t high on any Elder’s wish list, but unbeknownst to Connor, the two of them shared one particularly chilling justification for wanting to avoid it. 

“Where did you want to be sent?” Kevin asked, narrowly dodging the question he really wanted to ask. Connor put on his best mockery of a Good Mormon smile.

“Wherever the Lord needed my service most,” he crooned cheerily, then dropped into an expression of wistful sincerity, “But I was hoping it would have been New York.”

Kevin raised his eyebrows slightly at that.

“New York City? That would have been kind of intimidating, don’t you think?”

“We sleep with our windows closed to keep out scorpions, Kevin.”

Kevin smiled.

“You have a point,” he conceded, then after a beat, “What do you like about New York?”

“Aside from the shortage of lions?” 

Kevin’s smile tugged wider. 

“Yes, aside from that.” 

“Everything,” he spoke dreamily, eyes going unfocused in the direction of the window, “Broadway. Nightlife,” he paused, glancing cautiously at Kevin before adding, “Gay people.”

Kevin’s eyes fled from his quickly. The flutter in his chest from before had turned to nothing short of vibration. It wasn’t a feeling he could quite articulate, nor track, but it wasn’t entirely bad. Though not entirely comfortable. He cleared his throat, looking back to Connor. 

“And pizza,” Kevin added, noting the visible release in Connor’s body language when he spoke again. 

“Oh, my gosh,” Connor let his eye’s fall shut dramatically, “I miss pizza so much.”

“Me, too,” he said. 

“It’s at least number three for me.”

“What are one and two?” He asked, finding it increasingly alluring to unearth small details about the boy in front of him. Connor paused to think about it. 

“My parents,” he said, only darting briefly away from Kevin’s eyes when he spoke, “And wifi, probably. What about you?”

Kevin took a long sip of his coffee, trying and failing to find the right words. There were a lot of answers he could have supplied, ones that could keep their light conversation afloat or ones that would lead to other relatively innocent topics, but instead, his mouth decided for him.

“I think what I miss the most doesn’t exist anymore,” he said before he could stop himself. He immediately flushed, shaking his head apologetically, “Sorry, that was… sorry. You weren’t asking for all that.”

He expected to find Connor’s eyes sharp and appraising at his overstep, but it was his own foolish mistake for projecting the expectation onto him. The sweet, compassionate boy who had never been anything but kind to him. Instead, Connor smiled sadly back at him. 

“It’s okay,” he said sincerely, “The door is always open.”

For a moment, Kevin almost considered it. He wasn’t quite sure what he would say, exactly, only that the words had been coiled tightly in his throat for a long time now, and the idea of letting them spring free felt almost like a glimpse of freedom. He tightened his hands around his coffee mug, seeking comfort in the way the heat pressed into his skin. He changed the subject. 

“Aren’t you tired?” Kevin asked, letting himself notice the slight traces of dark circles under the district leader’s eyes. Perhaps it was due in part to his own exhausting self-involvement over the past few weeks, but it occurred to him, when he actually thought about it, that they had always been there. 

Connor smiled down at his lap. 

“I’m always tired,” he said.

Kevin knew the feeling. He wished he was brave enough in that moment to explain to him just how much. 

“The coffee helps,” Kevin offered instead, desperately hoping that something in his tone would extend the undertone of solidarity. 

Connor took another sip. Kevin wondered if the taste was growing on him, too. 

“Yeah,” he said, “It does.”

* * *

“Someone hurt me.”

The confession fell into the air between them one night when neither one of them had expected it.

It was the third night in a row they had found themselves there on the couch after dark, and Kevin was so tired. They never spoke much about what kept them awake, all the separate and severe complications that came with the nighttime, but there was an unspoken understanding between them; one that threaded them a little closer each night. Sometimes they would talk. Mostly they were quiet, but it was a kind of comfortable silence that neither one of them were accustomed to, and both of them needed more than they realized. 

Until now. 

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, he didn’t think. Or maybe he had. It had been rattling around inside of him, denting the walls, making him bleed for weeks, damaging everything in its wake. And for all the terror that inflated in his chest as the words escaped from his lips, there was also the hint of something else. The hint of _relief._

The pink, sparkly pen topper that had been bobbling which each scratch against the workbook in Connor’s lap came to a halt. Wide, blue eyes rose to meet him, a thick silence hanging over them, ringing heavy with the weight of Kevin’s words. 

_Someone hurt me._

“Oh.” Connor closed the book in his lap slowly, setting it to the side, “Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

A solid fucking question. 

The nightmare that had drawn him to the dim lamplight of the living room that evening had been a bad one. He could still feel the residual tremors in his arms, though it could have been partially exacerbated by the half-drank cup of coffee beside him or the impulsive decision to air his darkest secret in some fucked up midnight confessional. Connor was watching him, all concerned and kind and expectant, and Kevin wished, really wished, he had an answer for him. But the weight was heavy on his chest, and even though he was the one who opened this door, it was really hard to speak when he couldn’t even breathe. Kevin felt like he hadn’t taken a full breath in weeks.

“Can you tell me who?” Connor prompted gently when Kevin didn’t respond, beckoning his eyes to his. 

Kevin opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. No sound came out. When he closed it for the second time, he could feel the tears stinging his eyes and really wished they would stay there. 

“It’s okay,” Connor said again, “You can tell me.”

Something about the quiet invitation was enough to break him. Connor McKinley had offered nothing but open arms and open ears since the night he skirted past him covered in blood and sweat and everything else he refused to think about, and he no longer had the resolve to resist him. Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, a tear falling down each cheek. 

“The General,” he spoke, the sheer weight of the name nearly stealing his breath once again, “And his guards.”

Connor was quiet then. Kevin couldn’t bring himself to look at him, eyes focused in on where his own hands clutched the blanket in his lap, watching his knuckles drain white. He wished he would say something. He wished he hadn’t said anything at all. He wished the silence wasn’t so loud. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” 

Kevin swallowed hard. Could he? Could he tell him what happened? Was there any good way to _tell_ someone you had been… That someone had… He pinched his eyes shut.

“I don’t...” Kevin started, his voice shrinking embarrassingly in his throat, “I don’t know what to... how to...” 

He shook his head, biting down in frustration.

“They hurt you,” Connor supplied gently, repeating his own words back to him, “Okay. They… they beat you up?”

Kevin almost couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled in his throat. He wasn’t _wrong._ He settled for a nod, picking at a spot of dried blood next to his thumbnail and trying really hard to push down the memory of hot breath against his neck. 

“What else did they do to you?” Connor’s voice was quiet this time, like he was scared to ask the question. He couldn’t have been nearly as scared as Kevin was to answer it. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his throat. In his fingertips. His ears were burning as he felt Connor’s gaze boring into him from across the couch, and he knew he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have kept his mouth shut, and hell, he should have never run full speed ahead into that _fucking_ camp because how was he supposed to look this boy, this perfect, kind, generous soul in the eye and tell him… tell him… 

“I was so stupid,” Kevin broke, pulling his knees to his chest, “I went to his camp. Alone. I thought…” he trailed off, shaking his head, “I was _so_ stupid.”

_A round of laughter echoed from the chorus around him, and Kevin’s face burned red, the pounding of his pulse audible in his ears as the General’s hand cupped him over his pants. He tasted bile in his throat. He tugged against the iron hold on his arms, desperate to push away the unwanted touch, but they only tightened their grip._

“Kevin?”

“They took my book away from me. They -- There were three of them. Two of them had guns, and they…”

_The general’s breath was hot on his neck as he leaned over the length of Kevin’s back, lips brushing his ear. He tried to recoil away, but there was no place for him to go._

_“I think he likes this.”_

Staggered breaths built to a crescendo in his throat, increasing in pace, in severity. Connor sat forward slightly, arms tensed to reach out to him.

“Hey,” he whispered, but Kevin shook his head, pulling back. 

“Just,” he bowed his head, eyes tightly shut, “Just give me a minute. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He thought he heard Connor say something like _you don’t have to apologize_ and he wanted to lean into the softness of his voice, but his ears were ringing and all he could focus on was the effort it took to calm his breathing. Connor didn’t push him, didn’t try to touch him. He was quiet. Kevin was sure his eyes were a bloodshot mess when he looked up again, but he didn’t meet Connor’s eyes. 

“It was all happening so fast,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, detached, “They attacked me. They grabbed me, and I didn’t… I didn’t understand what they were doing. But they pushed me down onto this… this table, and,” his voice cut off momentarily, and he could feel his chin quivering, his last thread of composure thin and taut and poised to snap, “Then his guards were holding my arms down, and I... I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. And the General, he…” Something inside Kevin broke then, a sob cutting him off as he hugged his legs, his forehead falling to his knees. “He pulled down my pants.”

_He flinched violently as two hands gripped the fabric of his temple garments, ripping them mercilessly down the back. The rush of hot, sticky air against his skin stole the breath from his lungs. Hands were soon to follow, tracing down his skin until they disappeared suddenly, replaced by the ominous sound of a zipper behind him._

“Kevin…”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin pressed a palm over his mouth to muffle the sob, tears running down his face, “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, or who he was apologizing to. But it was the only word in his throat then, bubbling out of him beyond his control, and it _felt_ it. He _was_ sorry. _He was so, so sorry._

_The general stepped forward, pressing himself against Kevin and the feeling of warm skin against his, forcing his hips painfully into the edge of the table, was enough to breathe new life into his resistance. He couldn’t help himself, he began thrashing wildly against his captors._

_“No!” He twisted in their hold, “Please, please don’t do this. I’ll leave, I swear, I — please, I’m sorry.”_

_The general’s hand was in his hair, tugging his head back. Kevin cried out, cringing against the strain on his neck. He was leaning over him again, lips against his ear._

_“You will be.”_

“Kevin.”

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

“Hey. Kevin. Please, look at me.”

There were hands on his wrists again, grabbing. Pulling. But they felt different. Softer. _Kinder._ They didn’t hurt him. He felt his muscles go slack, allowing the fingers to pull his hands away from his head. When he looked up, Connor was right there, kneeling on the couch in front of him. He held Kevin’s hands in his, ducking into his line of sight. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, and even though his own voice was shaking, the hint of redness around the rims of his eyes, Kevin was almost inclined to believe him. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”

There was so much more Kevin wanted to tell him. About the fear like he had never known and the pain of being torn apart from the inside out. About the dream he’d had at the bus stop before and the way the men mocked him and called him… called him a… About how he had thought God was punishing him for the thoughts that he had failed to control once again, and how even then he couldn’t stop himself from praying while they hurt him, begging God to save him. About the feeling of utter violation and the hands on his body and that… that _fucking_ book. 

He wanted to relinquish every bit of it from himself, to shed the skin he was forced to live inside of that no longer felt like his. He wanted to talk about it. As much as he didn’t, he so very much _did_. 

Sometimes he wondered if he might have opened up sooner if it weren’t for the way Gotswana had treated him in the immediate aftermath. Seeing the way he reacted, the first and only person to which he had uttered the truth, followed him, hung on him like a heavy chain link sweater. Every time he remembered the smirk on the man’s face as he worked over him, and his lips would seal shut, the words lodging in his throat where he could never, ever let them claw their way out. 

And in a way, he had to hand it to him; that on paper it was a bizarre circumstance. Ridiculous, even. But Kevin felt sure he wouldn’t have laughed if it had happened to _him._ If he experienced the blinding agony, the silent plea for death, the way Kevin had. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have mocked him if Kevin told him what came before the book.

Or maybe he would have.

But then there was Connor, kneeling in front of him in the safe haven of their secret midnight hideaway. _I’m right here,_ he said. And Connor wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t laughing at him, wasn’t trying to hurt him. And maybe Kevin couldn’t say all the things he wanted to. Maybe not now, and maybe he never would. But Connor was here, in front of him, with the same open arms and open ears and eyes full of compassion beyond what Kevin had ever known and never knew he needed.

When his shoulders collapsed under another breaking wave, Kevin felt arms wrap around him and he gave himself over to them freely, letting them pull him in. He fell against Connor’s chest, clutching his shirt with trembling fingers, and he let himself fall apart. No longer able to bear the weight of the thing that had destroyed him, that had taken everything he knew out from under him, Kevin clung tight to the one solid thing he had felt in weeks.


	4. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *taps mic* is this thing on?
> 
> Listen, I'm just as surprised as you are. In no way do I mean for this surprise chapter to give you hope for a regular update schedule. But I had a partial draft sitting around for long enough, and I let some more spill out of me today, and I figured I would give these boys some much needed attention. Take it for what it is.

The tips of Connor’s fingertips were starting to go numb from the repeated motion of dragging them through Kevin’s hair, but he wasn’t ready to stop. It had been at least an hour since his friend cried himself to sleep in his lap, but Connor was wide awake. When Kevin’s body had finally gone limp and quiet against him, his breathing evening out, Connor had eased him down onto his side so that his head rested on top of his thigh. It was almost on instinct that Connor’s hands found his hair, his lost and frightened brain clinging to the best memory of comfort he had known as a child; when his mom would sit at his bedside when he was sick with the flu or scared of a monster that didn’t exist outside of his nightmares and comb her fingers softly over his scalp until he would finally, finally find rest. 

Kevin Price didn’t have the flu, though. And the monster he was afraid of was far worse than any nightmare Connor had ever known, numerous as they might be. 

His confession was echoing inside Connor’s head so loudly, bleeding into the memory of his heart wrenching sobs, and he was quite sure he would never stop hearing them for as long as he lived. He looked down at the boy in his lap; tense, even in sleep, and exhausted in a way that far surpassed a physical deprivation of sleep. The nineteen year old missionary looked so young just then, his fingers clutching at the fabric of Connor’s pajama pants, lips slightly parted, and it occurred to Connor for maybe the first real time: he was just a kid. They both were. 

Nineteen years old and shipped off to face the perils of a third-world country on their own, now without so much as a proper backing from the church. It pained him now to think of the ambitious go-getter Connor had met only weeks prior, his eyes so full of light and hope and promise. Though his execution may have been a bit off base at times, it was clear to anyone who paid attention that Kevin’s heart was in the right place. That he had come here with a genuine intention to help people. To do good. 

No one deserved to go through what had happened to Kevin, but Connor couldn’t help but feel it was especially cruel that _any_ god would let it happen to _him._

He remembered the first time he met Kevin Price. He thought of it often, usually when reflecting on the slow, quiet deterioration he had witnessed over the course of the mission. Knowing what he knew now… knowing the catalyst for the changes he saw in him, the light he watched fade in his eyes... the secret night they didn’t speak of. The boy in his lap was a perfect stranger to the bright-eyed newcomer who shook his hand all those weeks ago. 

It hurt. The knowledge of what happened and the acknowledgement that there was nothing Connor could do to erase it and _little_ he could do to cushion the aftermath elicited an almost physical pain. 

And yet, he was immensely grateful Kevin had told him. 

He couldn’t imagine the kind of trust required to share something like that with another person. He knew it hadn’t been easy for Kevin, evidenced by the tangible agony in his voice, his eyes, his body as he told his story. Connor hoped he would be forgiven if it was selfish, or perhaps a bit misguided, to feel a stitch of gratitude that Kevin had trusted _him_ of all people.

Connor didn’t have it in him to pick apart the implications and consequences of all that right now. His emotional capacity had been tapped.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), he was spared from his thoughts by the faint creaking of a door from down the hall. Connor held his breath, fingers frozen against Kevin’s scalp as he stared wide-eyed into the dark mouth of the hallway. Kevin stirred a bit at the broken pattern of movement and Connor prayed he would stay asleep. He settled back into his slumber, and Connor looked up just as his companion emerged from the shadows.

Chris came to a stop at the opening of the living room, clearly caught off guard at the sight in front of him. Not at Connor’s presence in the living room, as it certainly wouldn’t be the first time for that, but what his companion almost certainly hadn’t anticipated was Kevin Price curled into him, both of their faces red and swollen from tears, and a soft hand in the sleeping boy’s hair. 

Chris glanced down at the boy in his lap before making cautious eye contact with Connor, who swallowed hard but held his gaze. A silent, almost defiant, statement in his eyes. He wasn’t quite sure what the statement was exactly, but he knew he was saying it with his whole heart. 

Perhaps it was a testament to the bond of their friendship, or maybe just a testament to how good of a person Chris Thomas was on his own. Regardless, he seemed to understand the message, perhaps even better than Connor himself did. 

He gave a curt nod, and maybe even what could have been interpreted as the hint of a smile, and Connor let out a long breath through his nose, nodding once in return. Chris spared half a look back to Kevin, then to Connor, before he wordlessly retreated back to their room. 

Connor sat frozen for a few seconds in the stillness of the living room until he heard the door click shut from down the hall. When Kevin stirred lightly against his lap, Connor resumed stroking his hair without thinking about it.

* * *

The first thing Kevin registered was a stiffness in his hand. He let out a small groan as the cramp throbbed into his wrist, and he uncurled his fingers on instinct, tingling as the blood rushed back into them. A wad of material wrinkled out from his unclenched fist and he flexed his hand to loosen up the muscles. The ache in his back was next, shooting upward into his neck and shoulders as he stirred. The scratchy material beneath him felt nothing like the cotton sheets of his cot.

Kevin blinked hard, his eyes struggling to focus on his surroundings. There was a dim light coming from somewhere above him, but most of the room lay in shadow. It wasn’t until he turned his head, feeling a bony thigh where a pillow should be, that reality struck him, jolting him to awareness. He froze, tensing up as memories from the night before (Hours? Minutes? Days ago?) flooded his consciousness. Something between regret and embarrassment and horror fluttered wildly in his chest, a warm flush spreading over his skin. He felt a bit nauseous.

“Easy,” he heard Connor say as Kevin braced his hand on the cushion beneath him, pushing himself into a sitting position. He winced as his back objected painfully to the motion, and Connor’s hands hovered just over his arms without touching him, pulling back when Kevin was steady.

Kevin couldn’t bring himself to look at his friend, who, to his credit, sat quietly beside him, not pressing or hounding. That was a good thing, because Kevin didn’t know what to say. 

“Hey,” Connor tried after a moment, his voice soft and kind as it had been before. Kevin curled his arms over his middle, shrinking in on himself as much as he could. “Are you okay?”

Kevin nodded, more of an instinctual response than anything. _’Okay’_ probably wasn’t high on the list of words he might have chosen to describe how he was feeling, but he had dumped quite enough onto Connor for one night. So a nod would have to suffice. 

Connor fell quiet again and Kevin felt, more than saw, his eyes lingering on him. 

“Look at me?” he asked. Kevin hesitated, but there was something in the way he spoke that made him impossible to resist. He sucked in a deep breath despite the sinking feeling in his chest and lifted his eyes. “It’s okay if you’re not okay.”

Again, Kevin nodded. Because again, what else could he say? But he didn’t look away, even as Connor forced a smile that looked more tired than anything. 

“Thank you,” Connor whispered. Kevin blinked back at him, confused. “For… for telling me.”

As much as he wanted to comply with Connor’s request, Kevin’s eyes fell away again. He couldn’t look him in the eye while he talked about… about that. 

“Sorry,” the word spilled out of Kevin, though he couldn’t quite articulate why. His fingernails dug into the knuckles of his opposite hand. “I don’t know why I…” 

Connor’s hand covered his and he stopped short. Connor seemed to realize himself a moment too late, pulling away quickly, then tentatively, softly, placing it atop Kevin’s once more.

“Sorry, just… Please stop doing that.” The tension in Kevin’s fingers melted under his touch and he allowed them to be pulled away, leaving tiny, pink crescents in their wake. “And please don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Kevin looked down at where their hands were still connected on his lap, studying the contrast of Connor’s pale skin against his tan. 

“Thank you,” Kevin told him. “For listening.”

“Of course.” Connor’s reply was instant and sincere.

“I promise I won’t… I won’t bring it up all the time. I know it’s…” Kevin pinched his eyes shut, swallowing hard. “A lot.”

The words must not have had the reassuring effect he had intended, because something changed in Connor’s posture, and he tensed for a moment before shifting his body to face him directly. 

“No, that’s…” Connor seemed to be struggling with articulation almost as much as Kevin was, and it was almost a relief that they were both so utterly fucking out of their depth together. “Look, I— I’m not saying I’m always going to know the right thing to say. Or. Or maybe I’ll always say the wrong thing, more likely. But I want you to know that… you don’t have to deal with this alone, Kevin. I _want_ you to talk to me. If you want to,” he added quickly.

Connor pulled his hand back from Kevin’s, fidgeting in his lap, and Kevin noted the way his hand felt cold in the absence of his touch. 

“I do feel like I should probably ask you something,” Connor spoke hesitantly, the new tone inciting fresh anxiety in Kevin’s stomach. He waited patiently while Connor sorted through his thoughts, an endearing worry line forming between his brows. “Do you think… do you think we should tell somebody about this?”

Kevin’s heart sank. “I told you.”

“No, I know, I…” The crease between Connor’s brows drew deeper, “I mean someone… above me? Like an adult you trust?”

“I trust you.”

Connor’s eyes softened as he looked to Kevin, but the concern was unrelenting. “You know what I mean.”

Kevin did, indeed, know what he meant, and the sudden uptick in his heart rate was a good indication of how he felt about it. He could feel himself quickly barreling toward the ledge of panic, and pulling himself back from that was a skill he was far from mastering. 

“Please,” he whispered, his voice suddenly desperate in a way he didn’t have time to properly despise. “Please don’t tell anyone, Connor. You can't.” His eyes were stinging by the time his voice broke off, and he absently wondered how he could possibly have any tears left in his system. He didn’t realize how out of control his breathing had gotten until he felt hands on his upper arms, pressing in lightly, just enough to get his attention. Connor shifted closer to him on the couch and ducked into Kevin’s line of sight. 

“Hey, I won’t,” he whispered, his own voice on edge. “I won’t, Kevin, of course I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“Please,” Kevin repeated, reaching up to clasp Connor’s wrists. “I can’t… I don’t want anyone else to know.”

“Okay,” Connor nodded quickly. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Kevin just kept staring into his eyes, the sincerity he found there a grounding force as he concentrated hard on getting control of his breathing. 

“Breathe,” Connor instructed, his palms squeezing lightly. “That’s it, buddy. Deep breaths for me. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Kevin nodded, loosening his grip on Connor’s wrists as his lungs slowly fell in line, his breathing leveling out to a pace that allowed him to think clearly again. He felt a bead of moisture spill over from his eye, and Connor’s hands fell away from his arms, raising a careful thumb to wipe it away. 

“I’m so sorry,” Connor said once Kevin had settled. “I didn’t mean to...” 

“I know.”

“I told you I would probably say the wrong thing.”

When Kevin looked up, Connor was almost smiling. It was a tired, tentative smile, but a smile nonetheless, and it was like a balm to Kevin’s soul. 

“I think…” Kevin stopped to consider his words carefully. He eyed Connor’s hands, and he was the one to initiate contact this time, placing one of his own on his and bringing them to rest on the couch between them. Connor squeezed back lightly. “I think we both just have a lot to learn.”


End file.
